


Till The Day I Die

by Infernal_Flame



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Era, M/M, Magic Revealed, Post-Magic Reveal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:22:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27492625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Infernal_Flame/pseuds/Infernal_Flame
Summary: “I will always serve you, Arthur. Till the day I die.”The day Merlin has dreaded since he'd first come to Camelot, since he'd first understood his destiny, has come. Arthur, and all of Camelot, look on as Merlin's secret is unravelled. And yet, all Merlin can do it look at Arthur.Arthur had never expected this, another lie and another betrayal exposed in the harsh light of day. In front of Camelot, Arthur cannot flinch, he must stay strong. Even if he's breaking inside.Sometimes the night is darkest before the dawn, and sometimes life is painful before it's golden.Or: The journey to understanding and forgiveness is not easy. But somehow, Merlin and Arthur, a sorcerer and a King, get there in the end.
Relationships: Gaius & Merlin (Merlin), Gwen & Merlin (Merlin), Gwen/Lancelot (Merlin), Knights of the Round Table & Merlin (Merlin), Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Past Gwen/Arthur (Merlin)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 38





	1. The Darkest of Days

**“I will always serve you, Arthur. Till the day I die.”**

His voice hung in the air, suspended in the tension of the moment. Merlin knelt at his King’s feet, pale white nape exposed above the shocking red of his neckerchief. The ghosts of figures past, restrained by flanking Knights and steel manacles, flickered over the image of the submissive servant, bound only by his loyalty to his king. 

Everyone assembled there saw, for a second, a different King, a different scene and a different age. One they had thought was left forever in the past. 

The quiet of the moment only provided a sharper contrast to the phantom screams of the innocent and desperate. For an eternity, no one spoke. Unable to bear it any longer, Merlin looked up into Arthur’s face and wished wholeheartedly that he hadn’t. That he’d kept his gaze firmly on the polished stone floor of the throne room. 

Arthur looked stricken. Gone was the mask that existed permanently as second skin since the day he had first understood his duties as Uther’s son. Only a handful of people had ever seen the true Arthur, behind the mask, and even those numbers had dwindled as Arthur had ascended to the throne. 

But now, in front of the court of Camelot, Arthur’s facade lay shattered at his feet. 

Arthur remained frozen in his previous position, his left leg braced back and his hands slightly raised. The naked emotion was painful to look at, Merlin too used to only catching glimpses of it in the firelight when Arthur lay to bed all his responsibilities. 

Merlin couldn’t help but wince, at the hurt, shock and betrayal he saw in Arthur’s eyes. It was barely perceptible, but after years of friendship and countless hours devoted to learning the other’s every movement, Arthur saw it. And with that, Arthur’s face shuttered—a wall crashing down his face until all emotion was concealed and his eyes were impenetrable.

Straightening his back and regaining his posture, King Arthur looked down onto the upturned face of his former manservant. 

Only Merlin could see that his jaw was clenched so tightly that one word would once more send that broken facade crumbling down. And while Arthur might despise Merlin, Arthur would always be his everything and the words died in his mouth. He owed Arthur that, at least.

The two of them looked at each other, searching the other's eyes as time seemed to slow to a standstill. For a second Merlin worried he had stopped it, desperate to capture Arthur’s face one last time. 

Abruptly, Arthur broke their eye contact and faced the crowd once more. 

The banquet tables, outlined by hard wooden chairs and densely packed with rich food and ale, were jarring in light of the previous events— the remnants of a joyous Lughnasadh celebration irrevocably spoiled. The body of the former assassin lay dead on the ground in front of Arthur, her limbs bent unnaturally. Merlin’s treason was unmistakable, unavoidable. She was a blaring reminder of Merlin’s action, his fatal decision. 

The court was unable to look away.

They sat quietly, conscious of the frailty of the moment and anxious to hear King Arthur’s decision. Clad in their colourful finery and dressed for their petty rivalries, the nobles resembled figures from a comedy who had wandered onto the stage of a great tragedy. The servants, in their livery of dull reds, belonged to a different scene. 

On the fringes of the hall, they looked fearful—scared for Merlin or of Merlin no one could tell. All except for one, Gwen. Gwen’s face clearly communicated her worry for Merlin, and her eyes held a mute plea. Arthur’s gaze quickly skittered past her and landed on Gaius.

Gaius, whose hair shone white and who looked like he had aged a lifetime in the five minutes it had taken for Arthur’s life to cave in. Unable to bear Gauis’ visible grief, Arthur once more shifted his eyes. 

His gaze landed on the Knights, his Knights. The ones he himself had knighted—valued and trusted above everyone else. Their silence as loud as a hundred screaming recriminations. Gwaine looked ready to revolt, held in place only by Leon’s fierce grip. Leon, himself, the most dependable and trustworthy of his Knights, looked at Arthur with an unwavering insistence Arthur so rarely saw from him. The other Knights, Lancelot, Percival and Elyan, their mingled emotions of hope and fear were plain to see. And Arthur knew, for all Merlin was, he had the Knights loyalty. Always.

“The servant, Merlin of Ealdor, has used…  _ magic _ .” Arthur’s voice shook slightly before he straightened his shoulders and carried on, his voice firm and authoritative. “He has been found guilty of sorcery and, by the laws of Camelot, is sentenced to death.” 

_ Sentenced to death. _

_ To death. _

_ Death. _

Arthur’s words rung in the still air, echoing in both the banquet room and in the minds of the assembled crowd. 

Behind him, Merlin’s head dipped nearly towards the ground as a gasp pierced the hush that had fallen after Arthur’s sentence, falling from the throat of a shaken Gaius. His voice launched the cries of the rest, with some in support of Arthur’s decision, some in protest but many more in shock.

All of a sudden Gwaine shot to his feet and advanced on the King, wrenching himself free of Leon’s grip. 

“No!” 

Gwaine’s voice was raw, a potent mix of desperation and anger as he begged the King he had pledged to obey to save the man he would follow onto death’s door itself. He was Merlin’s Knight, forever and always, before he was Camelot’s. 

“Arthur, sire, please.  _ Please.  _ He just saved your life, you can’t do this.” 

“I am King here, Gwaine. And you will find I must do this. Camelot’s laws are binding, for all her citizens.” Arthur cut out, his jaw clenching just as harshly as his fist. 

Gwaine, in turn, looked near-frantic with anger and worry. His march towards Arthur halted by both Sir Percival, and the ever-present Sir Leon, who had leapt out of their seats after Gwaine. In anger, they all knew, Gwaine could very well do something he might regret. 

About to escape the hold of Sir Percival and Leon’s restraining arms, Gwaine’s eyes fell on Merlin’s face, half turned towards him. While Gwaine had become a Knight of Camelot, had earned the respect and admiration of its King, and given his loyalty in turn, he would throw it all away. For Merlin, for their friendship, Merlin knew Gwaine would do anything. And Merlin could never let that happen. So Merlin shook his head firmly. 

_ Don’t do anything foolish _ . 

Gwaine’s face crumpled in despair, as he sunk limply back into the arms of Sir Percival and Leon, all his urgency extinguished. The two Knights staggered slightly in surprise before they gently led the grief-stricken Knight back to his seat. He sat there, amongst Arthur’s Knights, unresponsive to their attempts at comfort. Merlin’s fate was sealed, and Gwaine was helpless. 

The rest of Arthur’s Knights sent darting looks to their King, full of fury they were too disciplined to voice in front of court. 

Arthur looked away. 

“The execution is set to take place in three days time, just before sun-up on the third day. The sorcerer will be taken to the dungeon for holding and will be allowed no visitors.”

He continued solemnly, his eyes fixed on the wooden double doors at the far end of the hall. 

“Guards!” At his wave, two guards detached themselves from the doors and made their way towards Merlin, who knelt waiting. 

“The celebration is over.” 

Without looking back at Merlin even once, Arthur strode from the hall and out the door. 

* * *

Merlin sat in the dimly lit dungeon, his knees drawn up to his chest. He couldn’t help but remember his first, but not his last, stay here. Back then he’d only been in Camelot one day and night and had already succeeded in enraging its Prince. At that, his small smile at the memory faded. 

Arthur’s anger now paled in comparison to what it had been like those many years ago. Back then his anger was directed at the country idiot who had dared talk back. Now it was at his closest friend, who had not only lied to him but had committed Camelot’s most grievous offence. 

Merlin let out a groan as he slid sideways into the dense layer of blankets that covered his dungeon bed. This was another thing that had changed. Back then the guards had been neutral, if a little callous, in their treatment of him. Their loyalty to their Prince, even if he had been a bit of a prat back then, justifying their actions. But now, despite Merlin’s secret coming to light, they were sympathetic—more kind than he probably deserved. 

They had led him, as respectfully as they could get away with, from the hall where he had forever broken Arthur’s trust to the dungeons of Camelot. They had even given him the nicest cell, kept relatively clean and sealed of any damp, musty water that would chill the bone in this cool weather. 

Merlin blanched as he thought of the fate that awaited him in a few days. As befitted the weather that accompanies the Lughnasadh celebrations—a festival that heralded the beginning of autumn and the harvest season—the air was chilly. Tucked into soft blankets, and in the cell closest to the fireplace where the guards sat, Merlin was relatively warm. 

_ Making sure I don’t die before they set me on fire. Then I’ll be altogether too warm,  _ Merlin thought fatalistically. 

The irony of the situation did not escape him. Lughnasadh celebrations were characterised with great, big bonfires—many of which still illuminated the grounds outside the castle. In fact, it was these bonfires Merlin had been most eager to see—that and the secret party the servants hosted every year. Merlin could hear the shrieks of laughter, and general merrymaking drifting in from outside his cell as people drank ale, and danced in front of the bonfires. 

He also knew that somewhere just outside couples were holding trial marriages—a fantasy he couldn’t help but indulge this time of year. A time of promise, of capturing the last of the earth’s warmth before winter could once more set his bitter teeth into the ground and its people.

Merlin shivered. In a few days, he’d be the bonfire, his body outlined clearly in the pre-dawn haze. He could picture it in his mind’s eye, the horrific sight he had seen countless times during Uther’s reign. During Arthur’s time as King or even Prince Regent, the sight had virtually disappeared. 

But not for much longer. 

_ Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. What was I thinking?  _

Merlin sighed softly, as he adjusted himself to lay curled into a tiny ball under the blankets. The problem was he hadn't thought. As was the case whenever Arthur was involved, he just acted. 

_ And look where that got me! Gaius’ll be so mad. _

He could hear the echo of Gaius’ voice in his ear, and the phantom slap he’d have surely delivered to the back of his head. 

_ Do you ever think? Honestly, Merlin, how you’ve managed to keep your magic a secret for so long astounds me!  _

His stomach pinched as he thought of how Gauis would probably never say anything to him again. Tears blurred his vision as he stared at the opposite wall of his cell through the gloom. He’d miss Gauis so much. He’d miss the others, of course, but Gauis was family. At that thought, those trembling tears dropped past his eyelashes and soaked into the lumpy straw pillow. His mother, his poor mother. First Balinor, then Merlin. She'd be devastated. 

_ I’m so sorry, Mum. But it's Arthur. _

And wasn’t that the saddest part. It was Arthur. Merlin knew he’d do anything for him, even give up his life if Arthur wished it. 

He just wished that he’d had more time to prepare, that he had been able to see his mother one more time. It had been more than a year since he’d last visited Ealdor—with his last trip not being particularly pleasant as they had fled from Morgana’s army. Camelot had been in chaos, and Arthur had needed him and so he’d kept putting it off. And now he’d never see her again. 

Everything had seemed so normal. It had started off like any other celebration, the great hall bursting with the sounds of hundreds of conversations and the glow of a thousand candles. Merlin had spent the entire feast with his eyes fixed on Arthur, who sat straight-backed in his chair—his chainmail shimmering like scales in the candlelight. 

His face, carved in hard, stoic lines, belied his discomfort. It had been a little over a year since Agravaine’s betrayal and Morgana’s occupation, and the eerie shadows of Morgana, Uther and Agravaine loomed behind Camelot’s young King. 

His face only softened when Merlin, leaning over his King to pour wine or serve him, would steal Arthur’s food or exchange quips in their neverending verbal battle. Merlin, embarrassingly, spent most of his night, as he spent most of his life since Arthur’s coronation, thinking of jokes or playful insults to share with Arthur when he next saw him. Just to ease some of the burdens Camelot’s crown had pressed on Arthur’s shoulders, and to catch that quiet light of irrepressible humour that shone in Arthur’s eyes—just for Merlin. 

As such, he’d been preoccupied as he’d scurried between the High Table and the kitchen, bearing trays laden with the choicest foods. It was on one such trip when he’d left to bring Arthur’s favourite sweets—the ones Arthur never admitted he liked yet would inevitably pout at Merlin all day if Merlin didn’t bring him any—that everything had fallen apart. He’d come in with the tray of pastries, his mind crafting a joke about the snobbish noble in puce green on Arthur’s left when the sorceress had burst in. 

Even if he had the time, there had only ever been one choice. If it was Arthur’s life or his own, Merlin knew what he’d choose. 

And it seemed he had. He only wished he didn’t have to live with the knowledge, glimpsed in Arthur’s eyes when he’d looked at Merlin so  _ shaken _ , that he’d hurt Arthur. Merlin had never seen Arthur like that, like a young boy whose childhood had fled in the cold light of day. Not after Uther, Morgana, Agravaine,  _ never _ . Merlin clenched his eyes in despair, shoving the heels of his hands into his closed eyes in an attempt to dull the image. 

_ At least I won’t live much longer.  _

There was once a time Merlin would have given anything to never see Arthur’s face again. He’d been so young then, so unaware of the great destiny that had bound the two of them together—sorcerer and King. Now, it seemed their paths would once more diverge and all he could think about was Arthur. How he’d kill to see Arthur’s face soften in fondness or creased in a joking insult as he looked at Merlin as a friend. 

It was all gone now like sandcastles washed away as the waves smashed in. That bright future, the  _ someday  _ he’d clung onto with feverish faith. The day where magic would flourish, where Arthur would be crowned King of all of Albion and Merlin would be known. Known to Albion, but especially to its sovereign. 

That dream has faded now. This wasn’t quite his worst nightmare, where Arthur stood over him—Excalibur gleaming red with blood. Reality involved a far bit more waiting than he’d imagined. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t understand, truly he did. Arthur had every reason to hate him, to fear Merlin and his magic. But it still hurt. After everything that Merlin had given up, Arthur still couldn’t see  _ him _ . He couldn’t see Merlin as Merlin saw Arthur—his other half in the great destiny that coloured all that Merlin was, and all he did. 

And that too wasn’t Arthur’s fault. Merlin had kept their destiny a secret. He’d kept almost everything a secret—who Arthur was, who he was, Igraine, Morgana, Balinor—but on some level, he just wished Arthur had known, inexplicably and without having to be told, that the two of them were tied. Irrevocably. That Arthur’s pain and dreams and hopes and joy were Merlin’s. 

Arthur was his _ everything _ . 

His unshakable belief in Arthur had withstood everything—Uther, Morgana, Agravaine, the Druids. But Arthur still didn’t believe in him. Not like Merlin did. 

And although Merlin tried to fight it, he couldn’t help but feel angry. After all he’d done for Arthur, after everything, Arthur still didn’t know him. Merlin had always protected Arthur, hidden in the shadows, from monsters, humans and even himself. He’d spent so many years, helplessly devoted to Arthur. And yet— 

_ Sentenced to death. _

_ To death. _

_ Death. _

It was unthinkable. 

* * *

Magic.  _ Merlin  _ had magic. 

This singular thought consumed his mind, chasing after and feeding his hurt until that was all he could sense. Blind to his surroundings, Arthur stalked down the hallway towards his chambers oblivious to the looks of concern his guards sent him—they, in turn, unaware that their King’s entire world had imploded. 

_ How long? _

Arthur couldn’t help but wonder. 

_ How many years had Merlin lied to him?  _

And that thought, that crushed him. Sometimes he felt the weight of the secrets swirling around him, threatening to undo Arthur until there was nothing left. He’d always trusted Merlin.  _ Always _ . 

After Uther, after Morgana, after Agravine, after Gwen, after the constant battering of betrayals that Arthur had withstood, Merlin had been his constant salvation. His one and only guiding light in the darkness that had drenched his world. And now, even Merlin was gone.

Everyone he loved, betrayed him. 

_ What is it in me that inspires betrayal? What makes me so untrustworthy to those I love? _

And that thought arrested him, the thought that had emerged with increasing insistence after each revelation, after each betrayal. 

For all his faults, Arthur strived to be an honest man. He evaded the truth if he had to, but Arthur rarely lied. His people trusted him, believed in his obvious sincerity that all Arthur did was for his people. All he had ever done was for them. 

_ But everyone I loved, everyone that knows me—not the King but Arthur—betrays me. _

He stared at the wooden grain of his door, for a second unable to contextualise what he was seeing. Finally, shaking his head in an attempt to clear it, Arthur slammed the door to his room open and stepped in. 

Only for his chest to seize, painfully, as he paused just inside the threshold. 

The room looked as he had left it. His bed lightly creased from where he’d lain reading proposals over rebuilding projects in Camelot after Morgana’s occupation. The fire glowed, the light dimmer than when he’d left it as the open windows carried in the cool night breeze. 

Everything looked normal. 

Everything was normal, except for Merlin. 

Merlin, whose presence shadowed Arthur’s every waking step. Whose inane chattering filled the space of Arthur’s room, which now stood silent. 

Merlin, who had left out a few discarded tunics to finish folding after the celebration. Whose ratty jacket hung carelessly from the back of Arthur’s chair, waiting for its master to once again don it. 

_ Merlin. Merlin. Merlin. _

The room screamed his name, as everywhere Arthur looked all he saw was Merlin. 

_ Merlin. _

Arthur’s thoughts were consumed by Merlin, as they usually were. But tonight they pressed on him, filling every inch of who Arthur was until all he could think was—

_ No. That’s enough. It's enough.  _

Arthur deliberately closed his door and moved into the room. 

_ Stop being weak. A King’s role is one of strength. Always. _

His father’s voice echoed in his head, a constant reminder of his duty. Arthur swallowed heavily. 

Gathering his emotions, his pain, his hurt, his anger, he roughly pushed it into a warped box—the same box which had been his constant companion before Merlin. He put them aside, as he had done the previous hurts, the previous betrayals. He had survived them, he would survive this.

Shutting his eyes, he took a deep breath as he stood in the centre of the room before he picked up the tunics and determinedly started putting them away. 

_ Oh, so you can fold! You just make me do them because you like to see me suffer, right? _

Merlin’s voice teased, as his mind filled in the familiar cadence of the man that shadowed his every move. Arthur smiled softly before it drained from his face as he remembered. 

_ Stop! _

He whirled around, his hands clutching his sturdy, wooden table as he shut his eyes tightly. Why, why wasn’t he able to put this away? To put Merlin away? 

_ Sentenced to death. _

_ To death. _

_ Death. _

His earlier words echoed in his head, overpowering his father’s cries of weakness, his father’s rage at  _ Arthur’s _ weakness. He stood, head bowed low and hands braced as he struggled to regain control over himself. 

**_*SLAM*_ **

“How could you!” Gwaine growled as he marched past the door, shaking loose Lancelot’s restraining hand. The others spilled in, the Knights cloaks lining the doorway until Arthur’s room was brimming with red. 

“I always knew you were a heartless, spineless coward, but this? Even this is too much.” His hands slammed onto the wooden table, sending the shock towards where Arthur stood, frozen in his previous position.

“It’s Merlin.  _ Merlin.  _ ” At this Gwaine’s voice faltered, his grief overwhelming him. Concerned, Percival came up behind Gwaine and slipped an arm around his waist to support the distressed Knight. 

“Sire…”Lancelot began, his voice hesitant yet sharp. “Merlin is not just anybody, he’s—” 

“Neither was Morgana.” Arthur lifted his head, his blue eyes piercing the group in front of him. As he had guessed, the Knights were accompanied by Gwen—her face pinched in grief and horror. At his words, the protests, arguments and condemnations on everyone’s lips dissolved. 

Morgana had been a blow for all of them, and her twisted presence still scared the castle and its inhabitants months after she’d been driven out.

“Where’s Gaius?” Arthur questioned softly, his look fixed on Gwen. Gwen curled her hand into the soft tunic of Lancelot’s tunic, either to draw strength or in an attempt to control her emotions Arthur couldn’t guess. Unlike the Gwen of before, when she spoke her voice was firm and displeased. 

_ It seems the failure of our relationship has finally given her the confidence to voice her displeasure,  _ Arthur thought sullenly.

“He couldn’t come. Not after…” And here she trailed off, her words caught in her throat. The after evident. Despair clung to every crevice of the room, grief, anger and pain etched in the faces of all the people that surrounded Arthur. For a while all was quiet, everyone lost to their own thoughts. 

“A life for a life,” Arthur muttered. In the silence of the room, his comment was akin to a shout. The other’s exchanged quick looks before fixing their attention back on Arthur. 

Arthur looked away from the fire and straightened as he spoke quietly. “He saved my life, and so I cannot take his.” 

Lancelot and Gwen pressed their hands together, an intimate gesture Arthur noted, as the other’s eyes widened and they unconsciously leant forward. Arthur ignored Uther’s voice, sneering at him for saving his servant and allowing magic to poison the kingdom once more. 

“Tonight Leon and Gwaine will take Merlin from the dungeon, secretly.” 

The others stared in shock and disbelief—hardly daring to breathe. As he continued, private smiles crept into their eyes as their despair bloomed into hope. With every word, their anger abated and they regained confidence in the man they had pledged to serve. 

And Leon watched Arthur, his gaze shrewd, as he alone understood what it had taken for Arthur to save Merlin, to save magic.

“Percival, you will take a horse and set a trail for Ealdor. Elyan and Lancelot, you will take Gaius and Gwen and set up a place for Merlin to stay hidden in the woods. Gwen, bring food to him once every two days, but vary the schedule and timings.” 

He paused, barely meeting their eyes, as they signalled their understanding. His headache pounding as his father’s voice, a constant drum, drowned out his own words until he was barely conscious of what he was saying. But he continued, for the heaviness that had clawed his throat and constricted his chest had slackened. The image of Merlin, thrashing on a stake wrapped in flames, dimmed. His honour alone compelled him to save Merlin. 

At least, that’s what he tried to convince himself was the case. 

“By the changing of the guard in about three hours, the alarm will sound that Merlin has escaped. I want you all back before then. At daybreak, we’ll ride out in search of him, so keep Merlin hidden in the meantime. When we get back, I want him gone.” 

Arthur’s tone was final, unyielding as he delivered his condition. 

Elyan and Percival opened their mouths, objections budding on their lips. 

“No, I want him gone.” Arthur’s sharp tone, and his even sharper look, silenced the Knights. They saw their King, face carved in stone and delivering his judgement emotionlessly. Until they looked, _really_ looked, past the mask Arthur had in place and saw his hurt, suddenly realising that for Arthur, this was personal. 

“He is no longer welcome in Camelot, but I cannot see him dead. Not when I still—” Arthur’s voice choked off, the words strangled in his throat.

The others shared bewildered glances as Arthur’s face twisted in a grimace. Only Leon avoided their gaze, subtly tilting his face away to hide the glimmer of comprehension as he finally understood. But, the loyal friend he was, he never spoke of what he gleaned from his King’s face that night.

After a moment, Arthur continued on—the light from the fire staining his skin a pale red. “Just because I will not see him killed, doesn’t mean he is welcome here. I hope you haven’t forgotten, magic is still outlawed in Camelot.” 

He stared at the others, wanting to drive home the point. Arthur might be King, but the laws of Camelot were unyielding. Even for him. 

“Magic is punishable by death. And if he comes back, if he stays, even I cannot save him.” 

“Can’t or won’t?” Gwaine growled, his gratitude towards Arthur vanishing as he was confronted once more of the consequences that faced his friend. He pushed away from Percival’s hold, his mouth twisting tightly. His hope in Arthur, the one that had grown as he’d realised that Arthur would never harm Merlin—not truly—battled with his fear that Arthur would always be Uther’s son. That Arthur’s hatred of magic would overcome his regard for Merlin. 

Arthur said nothing, his face unreadable as he looked steadily at Gwaine. Gwaine stared back, searching for an answer. 

The others felt the room grow heavy, the emotion and events of the past thirty minutes occupying every single inch until they were submerged in the tension of the moment. 

“I think we should go. We won’t have much time, and there’s a lot to do. Sire, by your leave...” Leon broke in. 

The others turned to look at him at the sound of his voice before swivelling their heads towards Arthur, waiting for his approval. Leon felt relief loosen the ache in his chest as he realised that the others, despite their anger, looked to Arthur. Though they might think differently now, Leon knew, they still saw in Arthur their King. And their friend. 

Arthur nodded curtly, his shoulders still tensed as he braced for another attack. 

Nothing came. The voice of Uther was still, and the others simply filed out from the room—their minds intent on their task. Only Leon offered a short nod before he too left, shutting the door gently.

Arthur was alone once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obligatory magic reveal fic. It's slightly AU, set after Morgana and Agravaine are kicked out of Camelot but Lancelot doesn't die (yay!) and he and Gwen are together. Other than that, hopefully everything else is canon compliant until Series 4.
> 
> I'm apologizing in advance, there will be angst and there will be a lot of introspection. It will get worse before these two idiots can get it together. I also have two outlines for this, one's 6 chapters and the other's 8, depending on if anyone's enjoying this lol :)
> 
> Also, if anyone's interested, I had Wicked Game (covered by James Vincent McMorrow) playing non-stop for this chapter. I'll probs do a song accompaniment to each chapter (although most of the songs I use mostly for the Vibes and sometimes the chapter title inspo).
> 
> Logistics: I'm planning on updating every 1.5-2 weeks since I have a lot of work to balance as well, but I'll make sure to include an update in the notes section of the latest chapter if I need more time than that.
> 
> Other than that, thank you so much for reading! A special thank you to all those that commented and gave kudos on my other work, it really pushed me to write this. Anyways, I hope you enjoy it as much as I loved writing this <3
> 
> Drop your thoughts or any feedback in comments below, please! Especially if you'd like to see anything in future chapters. Comments feed my soul haha


	2. Wolves Run at Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of the Lughasenad’s feast, and the startling revelation that defined it, might irrevocably change Camelot. As Arthur grapples with Merlin’s secret and his own emotions, Merlin himself deals with a few surprises. In the darkest moment, Merlin is given a glimpse of light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song accompaniments if anyone’s interested are: Running From the Night by GAIT and Brother by NEEDTOBREATH ft Gavin DeGraw.   
> UPDATE: Ok so... next chapter's only halfway done because I procrastinated and wrote up plots for 3 new Merlin fics and a possible sequel to this one #productiveprocrastination So hopefully it'll be up by next week sometime but *shrugs*

The uncertain light flickered across the hallway, washing it in shades of black and grey. Shadows blinked in and out of the light, shifting in the slight breeze brought in from the open windows. The amorphous shapes stretched ghostly fingers down the hallways before shying nervously from the all-encompassing black that denoted the entrance to the dungeons.

Alarfic yawned, his helmet rattling as he raised his hand to conceal his mouth. Fighting to stay awake, he mentally lamented his lot—forced to stare at the empty hallway for the past hour instead of enjoying the remnants of the celebration with the servants. In fact, with the sorcerer caught, and the feast ending so abruptly, Alarfic knew that peasants, from the servants to the other off duty guards, were enjoying the rich foods and expensive wine usually reserved for nobility. 

_That prig Oswin,_ he sneered in disgust. The pompous Head Castle Guard was always suspicious of Alarfic, always ready to blame and assign him the worst of duties. It hadn’t been his fault that the day he’d been _slightly_ late, holding up the company for a maximum of 15 minutes, was the day brigands would decide to kill travellers. When he’d joined the Guards of Camelot, he’d thought he’d be secured for a life of importance and power over the lower town citizens but instead, he’d shackled himself to a life full of misery and toil. 

Cocooned in his own blanket of self-pity, the indolent guard failed to notice as two shadows carefully stole down the hallway. So preoccupied imaging that various pleasures that the other guards were indulging in their communal quarters he failed to note the faint **_chink_ ** of a door latch lifting or the careful **_thud_ **of a door easing close. Caught in his own thoughts, and fighting sleep, Berifan was oblivious. 

On the other side of the door, Gwaine sent Leon a roguish grin, his white teeth glinting in the darkness of the stairs where Leon was concealed. The warm glow from the braziers down in the dungeons cast irregular patches of light and dark on the wall, forcing the two Knights to stay crouched on the uppermost stairs.

 _That guard was too easy to sneak past,_ Leon thought—frowning in annoyance. _Oswin should increase security in this area. While it made it easier for us to get Merlin out, it could just as easily help others from also breaking people out of the dungeons. Our dungeons really aren’t the most secure,_ he reflected as a barrage of instances of escaped prisoners flashed through his mind.

“ _Well?”_ Gwaine mouthed at Leon as he saw the senior Knight frozen on the stairs. Gwaine was impatient to begin, his body humming in anticipation as the adrenaline pumped through his veins.

Nodding in acknowledgement Leon motioned for Gwaine to remain where he was, pointing at himself and then down the stairs in a series of familiar gestures. Ingrained from countless hours of drills under Arthur’s impatient eye Gwaine easily understood Leon’s intent—Leon would have a look at the situation before coming back to Gwaine and going over next steps. For Merlin, he knew, Leon’s signals would carry the same significance as a random flail of the arm. 

Outwardly, Gwaine rolled his eyes—its impact, however, lost in the shadows cast by the cowl of his cloak. They had gone over this, their bare outline of a plan, after they had left Arthur’s chambers. The group had convened in Gaius’ room, in part to reassure and inform Gaius of Arthur’s change of heart and their role in rescuing Merlin, but also in part to plan out their duties away from any prying ears. As they all well knew, even in Camelot, the walls had ears and secrets were a rare luxury.

Gwaine could vividly remember the white of Gaius’ face, the sheer relief that had drained it of all colour when he’d heard that his son, as Merlin undoubtedly was, would see Camelot’s mercy, and not her twisted vengeance. As his eyes had streamed trails of tears, and he had sat hunched over and trembling, the others all found tears caught in the lashes of their own eyes. For a while, the group was frozen, overcome with emotion and relief before Leon once more directed them to motion. And though none of them spoke it, everything felt unsettling and strange. 

Merlin’s boundless spirit shone from every corner of the room. And the plans, laid out in the calm, courtly voice of Leon rather than the passionate, commanding one of Camelot’s King, fell uneasily into their ears. The room was filled with the twin presence of the King and his manservant, and their absence magnified a sense of disquiet that clung stubbornly throughout their deliberations.

Gwaine shook off those thoughts, refocusing on the mission at hand—Merlin. His only task was to rescue Merlin, and for once, Gwaine could offer no complaints. The consequence of failure was too grotesque to think about, a wound too raw to imagine.

After a moment, Leon beckoned Gwaine over—who glided down the stairs like a wraith, his steps soundless and his cloak looming with the uncertain light. He joined Leon at the spot where Leon huddled, overlooking the dungeon floor. 

Together they watched the two guards, bored and slightly tipsy, who were engrossed in a game of cards. Peering past the guards and into the semi-darkness of the dungeons itself, the pair could neither see any movement nor hear any sounds of another guard. 

They crouched undecided as they thought of their next move. They had known that overly planning for moments like these could lead to disaster. 

_The best plan is a simple plan. All too often, in the heat of a fight, anything that can go wrong will._

Echos of Arthur’s voice rang in their minds—providing direction and support, even now. Years of guidance, of Arthur directing their every movement, emblazoned his teachings in their heads until they could recall every command, every statement without prompting. This very training, honed under a critical eye and an equally scorching sun, battled with Gwaine’s instinct, urging him to rush down the stairs and crash headfirst into the tipsy guards. Leon, admittedly, was facing a similar struggle. 

Leon moved away from the marble lip of the step and father back into the shadows, motioning for Gwaine to do the same. Hidden from the light, and therefore from view, Leon waited for Gwaine to join him. Once there, Leon leaned towards Gwaine, his mouth just hovering near the shell of Gwaine’s right ear as he whispered the plan. 

* * *

“Ughhh!”

Cedric groaned, throwing down his cards in disgust. Burying his head into the pool of his arms on the table, he muttered angrily, “I keep losing.” For a moment he remained still, so still that Berigan thought his partner had succumbed to an alcohol-induced daze. 

Suddenly, Cedric lurched up—his eyes screwed suspiciously. “Are you cheating, Bergian?” His eyes widened in shock as Berigan startled at his question, his demeanour screaming his guilt. Bolting up he slurred angrily, “You did! I’l—”

What Cedric would do was lost in a garbled cry as he crashed through his wooden chair, splinters flying in every direction, His attempt to lurch up from his chair and exact his drunken revenge on Bergian was thwarted by Gwaine. Gwaine, who had leapt from the lip of the stairs and onto the unsuspecting Cedric. 

Alarmed by the sudden appearance of a cloaked, shadowy figure who had, in one leap, rendered his fellow guard seemingly unconscious, Bergian smoothly drew out his sword—braced for any further attack. At least, that was what he had intended to do. 

Muddled by the dizzying effects of the copious amounts of wine he had consumed, a potent and richer version than the one Bergian was accustomed to, he fumbled for his hilt. His clumsy fingers grasped desperately at the worn leather cord until at last, he pulled it free. Squinting through the flickering light and past the haze of alcohol, Bergian tried to advance on the intruder. 

“Who—” His brash question was interrupted by a flicker of silver light cutting through the light in his peripheral vision. Something in him, that innate survival instinct cultivated through centuries of humans confronting the unknown, screamed **_DANGER_ **. 

Shifting his gaze to where he last saw the light, he saw another cowled figure—sword gripped firmly in hand. Had Bergian been sober, and perhaps smarter, he would have conceded defeat right then. Caught in the foolish bravery that alcohol so often lent to its patrons, he failed to notice that while he swayed where he stood, the other figure stood firm. Where his sword wobbled in the air, his opponent’s sword held resolute. 

Without warning his opponent advanced, eating the distance between them until all Bergian could see was the unflinching shadowy figure. 

Some bit of training pierced through the fog, reminding him of the basic rule: _advance_. Thrusting his sword out, he stamped his foot forward to arrest his opponent’s momentum. It was a move he’d practised a hundred times, a killing blow. 

Had it connected. Instead, his opponent simply swayed back, the deadly point passing an inch away from his heart. Berigan stumbled, expecting a resistance that never came until he lost his balance. What might have been only for a second stretched into a couple more as the wine rocked his feet and loosened his limbs. 

Before he could even hope to recover a sword flashed through the air, knocking into his own sword and sending it skittering to the right. Instinctively, his head followed the path his sword had taken. 

**_Clang_ **

The sound of a sword pommel striking the steel helmet resounded in Berigan’s ears. 

“Ow!” He muttered querulously, hand raised as he moved to rub against the sudden blooming pain at his left temple. 

**_Clang_ **

The pommel once more struck the dented helmet, sending Berigan crumpling down onto the floor. He lay still, paralleling his companion who sprawled amid wooden detritus.

“Aww! Why do you get to have all the fun?” Gwaine gripped good-naturedly, appearing at his elbow as Leon reversed his hold on his sword. 

“Shut up.”

Bending down to begin to affix the leather cord around the fallen guard, Gwaine straightened rapidly as a familiar voice echoed through the hall.

“Hello?” 

Relief flooded through his body, dimming the rush of adrenaline, as he bounded in the direction of the voice until he came to a tiny cell—dark and unpleasant aside from the face of Gwaine’s best friend. 

“Merlin!” Gwaine cried as he moved to grip the fingers Merlin had wrapped around the dungeon bars. 

“Gwaine! What brings you here?” Merlin questioned cheekily, his smile just as bright as they remembered. Spying another cloaked figure behind Gwaine his brow creased. “Who’s that?”

At his question, the figure pushed back the cowl of their cloak, revealing Leon—his hair gleaming gold. “Just me.” 

Shock rounded his face as he stared at the unlikely figure of Camelot’s Head Knight. He’d thought maybe Gwaine, and perhaps Lancelot might try something like this in the next couple of days. But Leon? Nothing Merlin had ever learnt of the steadfast, honourable Knight would have indicated that he’d help Merlin against Arthur’s orders. Leon’s allegiance was to Arthur, first. Just as Merlin’s was. 

“What?”

“Of course. We’ll always be there for you Merlin. Always.” 

At Leon’s sure tone, Merlin’s eyes filled with tears, emotion constricting his throat until he could barely speak.  
Although Merlin didn’t want to admit it, he often imagined what would happen if his magic was found out. He’d go about his day, each face he’d encounter another friendship lost. He had hoped Gwaine and possibly Percival, who had grown up outside Camelot, would still look at him unchanged. Would still see him as a friend, not an enemy. But Leon, Arthur’s most trusted and loyal of Knights? That was a gift Merlin couldn’t have beared to imagine. And yet here he stood in the dungeons, risking life and limb for Merlin.

He smiled, a tiny, radiant thing, at his friend. At his darkest hour, when the friendship that had defined Merlin’s entire being lay in tatters, he found himself surrounded by community, by warmth. It was all too much. 

“We’ve come to release you from your cage my lord,” Gwaine proclaimed as he swept into an overly pretentious courtly bow. From his doubled-up position, he looked up at Merlin and smirked. Even Leon, burdened as he felt with the duty entrusted to him by his King, smiled. 

Merlin’s tears blinked down his face as he laughed at Gwaine’s antics. Gwaine always knew how to make him smile.

“Come on, you have to do your,” at this Gwaine wiggled his fingers in what, Merlin could only assume, was meant to be magic, “and bust yourself out of here.” 

Merlin raised an eyebrow, a gesture he had practised constantly over the years. “So if you’re breaking me out, why am I doing the work?” he teased. The despair that had nipped at Merlin’s heels all night, often overtaking him, seemed to vanish as a bubbling warmth replaced it.

“Why we didn’t make you want to make you feel excluded, of course!” Gwaine exclaimed, his hands splayed out. Merlin and Leon rolled their eyes in an unconscious gesture. 

Merlin swallowed heavily, darting his eyes to Leon as he realised he’d have to do _magic_ in front of them for the first time. No more hiding, no more tricks. At Leon’s expectant look, he took a fortifying breath and spoke, his eyes sparking golden, “ _Tospringe.”_

Keeping his eyes fixed on the gate and the lock, which had blasted off the door and fallen in pieces onto the floor, he pushed open the unlocked door and closed it behind him. With a tight feeling in his chest, he looked up, prepared for any reaction. 

Any reaction except wonder. Leon’s eyes were rounded in awe, no traces of fear or disgust to be seen. Even Gwaine, who had attempted to appear blase, couldn’t hide his amazement. Merlin flushed lightly, pink rushing onto his cheeks. 

“Your eyes…” Leon whispered, second-guessing what he had seen.

“Yeah,” Merlin mumbled, his hand raking through his unruly black hair, “It does that.” 

“Right. Yeah. Of course.” 

Relief loosened his chest as he realised, rather than the fear that had all too often accompanied acts of magic, all he saw was acceptance. And admiration. Even with Gauis, fear always clouded his eyes whenever Merlin used or practised magic. The threat of death looming large and omnipresent. 

For a second, all was quiet before they all remembered where they were, and what they had to do. 

“So what’s th—”

“Are you re—”

“Shall we—”

The three of them spoke at once, their voices drowning the others out until they all stopped. Grinning, Merlin gestured for the boys to go ahead, eager to hear what their next step was.

“So, we were planning on taking the door,” Leon pointed back down the hallway towards where light streamed in from the guard room, “and heading out into the central courtyard. If we stick to the shadows and keep hidden, we can make it past the town and into the forest. Lancelot, with Elyan, Gwen and Gauis—”

“Wait, you brought Gaius into this?” Merlin asked incredulously, unable to picture the aged physician engaged in such a risky mission, and hiding out in the woods. At Leon’s look, he quieted, motioning once more for the Knight to continue.

“So, they have, hopefully, found someplace you can hide out for a little while. Most people would assume that you’d head out of Camelot, possibly riding for Ealdor, so you should be pretty safe as long as you stay within the woods. Percival’s gone on ahead to lay a false trail, so that should help matters.”

At Merlin’s hesitant nod, Leon smiled comfortingly. “It’ll all be alright, Merlin. You’ll see.”

Merlin wished he had that confidence, but he couldn’t even muster it. All his optimism seemed to have fled the moment he had looked up and seen Arthur’s devastated face. He hadn’t realised until then how much of himself he had built around his destiny, around Arthur.

“Okay!” Gwaine, exclaimed as he clapped his hands together. “Let this charade commence.” 

Both Leon and Merlin rolled their eyes. Reaching into a pouch on his right hip, Leon produced the key that would unlock the stout, wooden door. Arthur had given it to him when Leon had gone to inform him of their plan. Making their way down the hallway, the three of them were silent—wary of any sudden noise. Although they knew that no one was here, save the unconscious and bound guards, it didn’t hurt to be cautious. 

Merlin did a double-take as they left the hallway and he saw the felled guards for the first time. One sported a large dent in his helmet and lay as if dead. The other was tied securely in rope, groaning in the broken remnants of his wooden chair. He looked up at the two Knights with a questioning look at his face, but neither Knight saw. Their focus intent on the door, cloaks once more drawn up, casting a dark shadow over their faces.

Unlocking the door, Leon pushed it open and ushered the other two through. The other side opened into the courtyard, set mid-way between the citadel’s main entrance and the gates leading out to the upper quarter of the city. An hour past midnight, the courtyard was washed in shades of gray with figures looming black. Merlin could pick out the black shape of the hay cart, positioned in its usual place next to the stables. 

Leon gripped Merlin’s sleeve before he could get too far ahead, catching Gwaine’s attention. Once both of them had focused on him, he pointed at Gwaine then counted off 10 seconds on his fingers before pointing at Merlin and then at himself, repeating the count in between. With nods of comprehension all around, Leon gave a thumbs-up gesture, and Gwaine peeled away. 

_Move smoothly, and slowly. Head for the nearest cover with minimal noise and if anyone comes into view, freeze. Nine times out of ten, they won’t see you if you remain still._

Arthur’s instructions relayed to him during hunting sessions and training, guided his movements. Stepping carefully, he inched his way across the open space—his eyes set on the hay cart that Merlin had noticed earlier. 

_Just get to the cart,_ he repeated to himself. He felt horribly exposed, creeping across bare stone and with no other cover in sight. Finally, he approached the hay cart and slipped easily into a crouch behind the bulk of the cart. Turning to look at where he knew Merlin would be he saw a dark figure break the cover of the shadows cast by the citadel’s walls. 

Merlin moved quickly, his shadow stark black in the faded gray of the midnight light. Unlike Gwaine, his steps beat a rapid pace as he darted across the open ground. He too felt bare, the nape of his neck prickling as he imagined a dozen eyes staring at him from the darkness. 

Accusing him, watching him. 

He moved faster. His nerves were strained, ears attuned to every single sound as he unconsciously quickened his pace even faster until he was all but running. His breath ran out in ragged huffs. 

**_Creak_ **

The barest whisper of a door opening cut through the drum of his heart. He froze for a second—someone was here, somewhere. 

_Hold!_

Gwaine thought as he watched the fast-moving shadow pause slightly as a door creaked open from the other side of the courtyard. Backlight from the firelight spilling out, Gwaine could only see the outline of a door and two figures stumbling outside, the door banging shut behind them. 

_Freeze. Freeze. Freeze._

Gwaine chanted in his head, willing Merlin to hear his thoughts. 

Merlin broke into a run. 

_Fuck._ Gwaine thought as he saw the figures pause, one raising their arm up to point at the blurred dark figure barreling across the courtyard.

 _Fuck!_ Leon unwittingly echoed as he heard a cry go up, the sight of a fleeing figure reasserting some reason in the minds of the revellers. There was only one course left—Leon ran. 

Breaking from the dark line of the citadel, he quickly moved into the gray light of the courtyard, catching up to Merlin and pushing him forward. Together the two of them sprinted, spurred by the cries of the faceless figures, yelling first in confusion then in accusation. 

Rising from his crouch Gwaine ran as well, heading for the archway leading out to the town. He could hear the other two quickly closing in on him, their feet slapping harshly on the rough cobblestones. Behind them more voices joined the chorus, rising in pitch as they struggled to figure out together what was going on. 

Aroused by all the commotion, the guard door up ahead pulled open revealing a guard, who walked outside. Gaze caught by the rabble outside the kitchen, the movement in his peripheral vision quickly refocused his attention quickly on the three dark figures barrelling towards him. 

Eyes widening in panic, he tilted his head slightly to the right, eyes still fixed on the oncoming figure of Gwaine.

“Hey! Gregor! Get out here!” 

“Wutz happening?” Gregor grumbled, pushing the door open and making his way outside. 

Turning his head to respond, the guard was caught unaware as Gwaine accelerated forward, pushing off his back foot as his fist smashed into the corner of the guard’s exposed jaw. His head jerked back before he folded into a heap on the ground—his spear clattering down from nerveless fingers.

The meaty, painful sound cut through Gregor’s alarm prompting him to lean back, fingers extended, to tug on the bell that would sound the alarm. 

**_Thwack!_ **

The blunt end of the fallen guard’s spear flew through the air and struck Gregor in the back of the knee, causing him to pitch forward, his head smacking on the cobblestones. 

The three of them blew past, Gwaine in the lead with Merlin, eyes still glowing gold, trailing behind. They could hear the shouts of the crowd behind them, starting to give chase. Too agitated to think, Gwaine let his instinct take over as the three of them plunged down dark alleyways and weaved through side streets—all attempts at stealth abandoned. 

Bursting through a side street and onto one of the main paths, Gwaine spotted a familiar house and lunged for the door. Throwing it open, the three of them stumbled in, slamming the door shut as they collapsed onto the ground, exhausted from the chase. 

And just in time. Outside they could hear the excited babble of their pursuers, milling about in confusion as they lost the sight of the fleeing figures. After a couple of minutes, they broke off, heading out in different directions.

In the distance, the sound of Camelot’s bells began to toll, piercing through the noise. 

They were trapped.

* * *

Arthur felt caught. Clad in a rumpled red tunic and his sleep pants, Arthur did not feel prepared to deal with all this. This was the collection of Knights, guards and councillors who had poured into his chambers, clamouring and shouting about fleeing figures and injured guards.

He didn’t understand why there needed to be fourteen— _fourteen_ —people piled into his chambers, an hour after midnight, repeating the same information and launching into hysterics. He just wanted to be alone, sitting in the half-dark drinking his wine and fighting his own hysterics. 

As the councillors voices rose, shrilly demanding information that neither the Knights nor the guards could provide, Arthur’s headache built until all he could sense was the sharp pain and the unceasing roar of conversation. Biting back a growl of frustration, he struggled to keep hold of his patient. It didn’t help that Merlin wasn’t here to act as a buffer, either exchanging stupid banter to ease his frustration or physically shoving assorted nobles and servant out—as he had done on one memorable occasion. 

_Stop_! He chastises himself, arresting his thoughts before he could spiral into a mess of tangled emotions—despair and hurt wrestling with concern and affection. He had spent most of the night fighting off the ache that had taken up residence in the pit of his stomach, and his rebellious mind that kept dwelling on things he had firmly told it to ignore. Not since he was a boy when the weight of Uther’s expectations had tended towards lenient, absent fondness had Arthur’s self-control crumbled to his desires and wants. 

And now, despite his best efforts, he was forced to confront the whole wreak of emotions again. The very last thing he needed was the dazed figure of a guard, sporting a large dent on his helmet, stumbling into his chambers demanding to speak to the King. 

“Sire! Sire! The sorcerer, Merlin, has escaped!” Arthur’s eyes slammed shut in a feeble attempt to erase the memory. 

So much of him had hoped, had prayed, to give the subject of Merlin and his _betrayal_ a rest, at least till morning. But it seemed he could never put Merlin to bed. The topic of Merlin was just as impertinent as its master.

As the councillors jumped on the poor guard, seeking information and launching a million questions, Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose as he took a deep breath.

_I can do this. I am capable of doing this. I love my people, and definitely don’t wish to slam their heads into the walls of my chambers. Definitely._

Opening his eyes, he listened for a few moments to the stammered explanations of the guard as he attempted to answer the myriad of questions the councillors lobbed at him. 

“Ok.” His voice cut through the air like a blade, silencing the others as they all turned towards him. “We’ll assume that the figures seen heading into the upper town are M—the sorcerer and his accomplices. Oswin,” at his name the dishevelled Captain of the Guards straightened even further, puffing his chest forward, “I need you to set up a patrol in the upper and lower town. Coordinate with the Knights, but I’ll leave the details to you. I’ll let Leon and some of the others know what’s happening as I have some special duties in mind for them. Dismissed.” 

Bowing at him and muttering their agreement, the crowd finally started to clear. Oswin could be seen talking to Sir Caridoc as they planned out the patrol roster.

Suddenly, a thought occurred to him, a way to warn Mer—the others that the citadel was on alert, and that they had been spotted. 

“Oh and someone get the bells ringing. We want them caught by dawn.” 

At his voice, Oswin nodded recognising the value of putting the town on high alert.

“Of course Sire!”

With that, the last of the Knights, guards and councillors left. Heaving out sigh Arthur realised that it still left him the task of pretending to send the Knights of the Round Table on missions that would justify their presence in the town, in the forest and, in Percival’s case, on a horse hours from here. 

_Saving my illegal manservant, providing alibis for my Knights and committing treason myself. If only my father could see me now._

The sound of bells ringing echoed throughout the castle as Arthur made his way to Leon’s chambers. 

It was going to be a long night. 

* * *

Placing a hand over his heart, and willing his breath to slow from a thunderous race to a more steady rhythm, Merlin looked around the house they had dove into. The sight that greeted him was startlingly familiar yet unfamiliar at the same time. So used to seeing it in the daylight, it took Merlin a moment to place where he was. 

“Is this Gwen’s house?” 

At his question, Leon too looked around, noticing everything for the first time. Gwaine gave a tired grin from where he sat against the table leg. 

“Yeah… I saw the door and just thought this was as good a place as any.”

Nodding absentmindedly, Merlin continued to gaze about him. So many things were the same, unchanged from the first time he had come here. The first time Arthur had come here, all those years ago. But some things were also different. Like the brown, cloth jacket and worn black boots tucked beside a faded purple cape and soft, golden shoes. The bouquet of bright yellow and soothing purple flowers, a tiny note caught in its leaves. Two smooth wooden bowls left out to dry. 

Merlin had known, in some removed part of his brain, that Arthur’s promotion of Lancelot as Head Knight of the town quarters would bring him into greater contact with Gwen. He also had known, in some distant way, that Lancelot still had chambers in the castle but would often be absent at dinner. But this was the first time those pieces had connected in such a visceral manner, the first time he’d seen for himself the easy intermingling of his closest friends. 

He had always known she loved Lancelot, but some tiny part of him had never understood why, the part that still saw Arthur for all he was and could be, why she’d chosen Lance—over Arthur. But looking, truly seeing, at how effortlessly their spaces aligned, how filled with love—a soft, gentle love—Gwen’s house was, he finally understood. 

“We need a new plan.” Leon’s voice cut in, breaking through Merlin’s thoughts. 

He was peering out through the windows, taking note of the increase in people outside. Neighbours lined the road, each gossiping and exchanging increasingly outlandish tales on what happened. 

“There are more people on the street, and it looks like the guards have just started patrolling. While they’ve probably guessed it was you,” he jerked his chin at Merlin, “I doubt they think Gwaine and I are involved.”

Gwaine nodded in agreement. There was no reason to expect that the two foremost Knights of Camelot would be involved in treason. 

“So I say we split up.”

“Wait, wait, wait. You want us to abandon Merlin?” Gwaine cut in incensed as he clambered to his feet—fists clenched. With his cloak pulled back, Leon could clearly see the anger that shaded every inch of his face.

“I think that’s a great idea,” Merlin exclaimed as he rose to meet Gwaine’s eyes. “I don’t want you guys in any trouble. Not because of me,” he added. 

“That’s not what I meant,” Leon calmly interrupted, his hands half-raised. “If we head in different directions we can give Merlin some cover. Keep the patrols, and people, away from the lower town and especially from the forest.”

Understanding dawned on Gwaine’s face, washing away the anger. “Yeah,” he nodded thoughtfully as he mulled over the idea. “We can head east and west, leaving the south path clear for Merlin.” 

Unexpectedly, he grinned. “I love this! This is fun.” 

“Of course you do Gwaine. I’m fleeing for my life but as long as you’re having fun,” Merlin smirked, the smile robbing his words of any sting. 

“Ok! So,” Leon exclaimed, interrupting Gwaine who had been ready to respond. He knew if he let them get started they’d be here till dawn. By which point, Merlin’s fate would be more than sealed.

“We’ll take our cloaks off, and here—Merlin, you put this on.” Handing Merlin his cloak, Leon continued. “Stick to the shadows and make sure you don’t attract any attention. Lancelot will be at that glade, the one we stopped at on our last hunt.”

Merlin frowned, puzzled before he remembered—a flash of crisp summer air, golden smiles and soft eyes. He swallowed heavily, the feeling of loss once more settling in. 

“Yeah I remember.” 

Oblivious, Leon carried on. “Lancelot will be waiting there, so you don’t have to worry about anything else.”

“Besides getting killed,” Merlin added. 

Huffing out an exasperated sigh, Leon nodded resignedly. He had no idea how Arthur did it, leading both Merlin and Gwaine. Then he remembered that Arthur, most of the time didn’t. They were notorious for ignoring Arthur’s instructions, a fact that had ruined many of Leon’s nights as he’d been forced to listen to Arthur’s grousing. He could now sympathise—leading Merlin and Gwaine was akin to herding a pack of dragons.

Turning back to the window, he watched and waited for the streets to clear slightly. Almost fifteen minutes passed before most of the people outside started to head back into their houses, the excitement roused by the alarm bells replaced by a longing for the comforts of their own beds.

“It’s time,” Leon stated, looking at the other two. They moved to join him at the door, Merlin wrapped in Leon’s cloak and Gwaine’s red surcoat and metallic chainmail exposed once more. Clapping Merlin firmly on the shoulder, he looked at his friend for perhaps the last time. 

“Thank you, Merlin. For saving Arthur’s life. And for being a great friend to us all.” Merlin beamed, pulling Leon into a hug. Startled, Leon hesitantly patted Merlin on the back before drawing away. 

“And thank you, Sir Leon,” Merlin said. Turning to Gwaine also tugged the Knight into a hug, holding on tightly. 

“I’ll see you again, Merlin, don’t worry.”

Merlin laughed, his tone fond. “I knew I wouldn’t be lucky enough to get rid of you that easily.”

Gwaine let out a mock outraged squawk, ruffling Merlin’s hair in retaliation. Batting Gwaine’s hand away, Merlin looked at Leon and nodded. He was ready. 

**_Creak…_ **

The door seemed unreasonably loud as Leon eased it open, despite the fact that Merlin doubted anyone else could hear it. Leon and Gwaine, without a look back, strode out the door and towards the main street. Talking in calm, assured tones, and their bearing confident, the people around took hardly any notice of them. Merlin knew that would not be the case for him.

Shutting the door as quietly as he could Merlin left Gwen’s house and stuck as close to the wall as he could. Thankful of the countless trips he had taken into the town, he knew his general direction and was almost certain he could make it to the forest without incident. Almost. 

For if there was one thing Merlin knew with absolute certainty, it was that destiny _really_ had it out for him. 

Spotting one of the smaller side streets, Merlin decided to head for the forest using the system of parallel streets to avoid detection. Before he did, he threw one last look back and smiled as he saw the Knight beginning to head off in diverging directions, a company of ten guards and younger Knights trailing behind. 

He then slid into the narrow alleyway, his cloak further concealing him from sight. His nerves felt tense, his every single sense straining to catch just the barest flicker of danger. Often he stopped, willing himself to melt into the shadows, as roving patrols swept by him. As he came into the lower town, he increasingly had to use magic to draw attention away from where he stood. The longer he lingered in town, the more patrols joined the search.

Once, a guard had paused barely a few inches away from where Merlin was frozen, as he peered intently into the gloom. Merlin remembered Gwaine’s advice. 

_Don’t move. Whatever you do, don’t move._

His mouth turned to ash, his muscles tense, Merlin waited—scarcely daring to breathe—until at last, the guard moved away, satisfied. For a few moments, after the guard had left, Merlin had remained, trembling and shaking as he tried to get his heart to slow. 

The rest of his journey was similarly fraught with tension, cursing the smallest noises and freezing at the mere suggestion of footsteps. His chest felt tight, slowly constricting the longer he stayed. 

But at last, he came to the end of town. Although he told himself not to, Merlin couldn’t resist turning back to look at Camelot, at his home, for the last time. 

A well of emotions bubbled up—anger, sadness and relief mingling until he could barely distinguish them. He tried to commit her to memory, the sight of Camelot—her banners fluttering red in the dark of night, the moon reflecting off her stone walls. And somewhere in there was Arthur. 

He turned away. 

* * *

“Merlin!” Lancelot’s grinning face, his teeth glowing white in the gloom of the forest, startled him. Merlin jumped, an embarrassing squeak greeting Lancelot—who started laughing.

“It’s so good to see you,” Lancelot exclaimed, pulling him in for a hug. Merlin clutched Lancelot’s arm, his grin wide and reckless. He was finally free. 

He was so thankful that he had remembered the path to the clearing, despite the strangeness that darkness brought to a place you only see in the light of day. Nestled close enough to the mouth of the forest, and yet concealed from Camelot’s view, Arthur had pointed it out, on their last hunting trip of the summer. Ever since Morgana, since the invasion, Arthur had increasingly taken an interest of the surrounding area, noting areas where an invading army or a small group could prey on Camelot’s weaknesses. 

But Merlin remembered this glade more for the sunshine that had carpeted the grass that had illuminated Arthur’s hair, and the fond look in Arthur’s eyes as he had turned to look at him.

Pain bloomed in his chest, one he tried stubbornly to push away. He focused once more on Lancelot, who was gripping his arm—a question in his eyes. 

“Where’s Leon and Gwaine?”

“Oh, when the bells started they went off to try and draw the patrol away from me.” Even from here they could hear the bells of Camelot, the deep sound resounding throughout the forest. 

Lancelot nodded approvingly before he pulled Merlin further into the forest. 

“I’m glad you made it here. When the alarm was raised, I was a bit worried.” And although he tried to smile, to pass it off like it was nothing, Merlin could see the fear in his friend’s eyes. He suddenly realised that aside from Gaius, Lancelot had been one of the first to know of his magic. And since then, he’d tried his best to shield Merlin—fearful of the consequences of discovery. 

“I’m alright, now. And I, uh, I wanted to thank you for helping. I know it must have been hard, keeping my secret all these years.” Lancelot was the most honest man Merlin knew, more so than even Arthur, and he owed a debt of gratitude. For Merlin, Lancelot had sacrificed a bit of his honour, of his values, to keep him safe. 

“Of course, Merlin.” The two of them stopped their trek into the forest, smiling at each other. Their bond had grown slowly, built from the foundations of trust. From the very first moment they had met, they had placed their lives in the hands of the other—and that trust had never been misplaced. 

Without the sounds of their conversation, the forest noises filtered in. The sound of brushing leaves dancing in the wind, snapping twigs as animals scuttled around and the cries of night birds singing their mournful song. And in the midst of that, a different sound.

“Let’s go.”

Quickening their pace, the two of them pushed through the undergrowth until they saw a hint of the night sky up ahead. Emerging in the clearing, the cascading waterfall glittered softly under the starlight. With a gasp, Merlin suddenly remembered where they were. 

“The cave!” Grinning and nodding in encouragement, Lancelot pulled Merlin ahead until the curved across the pool where the waterfall gathered. On the other side, nearly hidden underneath the mist, was a tiny entrance. 

Picking their way carefully across the rocks made slick with water and algae, they slid behind the waterfall and came into a large open half circle cut into the rockface. 

It was empty. 

Confused, Merlin was about to ask a question before Lancelot waved his hand, instructing him to wait. Walking diagonally across the empty space, Lancelot made his way towards a rock that jutted slightly forward from its neighbours. Turning sideways, he gave Merlin a wink and seemingly disappeared. 

_What?_

Making his way towards where he had last seen Lancelot, he discovered a crack, behind the protruding rock with barely enough space to fit a single person facing forward. Through it, he saw a hint of firelight and the lightest mummer of conversation. Taking a deep breath, Merlin slid through the narrow gap as well. 

It was probably one of the worst things he had done all day. The rock walls and the darkness worked together to make Merlin feel like he was slowly being buried alive. But he kept going, watching the light grow stronger and the sounds sharper.

Suddenly he was clear. Taking a deep gasp of air, Merlin looked around the sight that greeted him. 

The space in front of him was smaller than the cave outside, with the current occupants and various goods bringing it to near capacity. Lancelot and Gwen pressed together, their hands intertwined. Elyan and Gaius were quietly conversing before Merlin’s rather dramatic entrance. 

“My boy!” Gaius cried, rushing to draw Merlin into a hug. A hug which Merlin enthusiastically returned. He was so happy to see Gaius. He couldn’t believe that a few hours ago, although in truth it felt like years since the events of the feast, he thought he’d never see him again. 

Drawing back, Gaius held onto Merlin’s shoulders with a relieved smile. All at once, his face morphed into one of annoyance, and he shook his apprentice slightly. 

“How could you be so foolish, Mer _lin_.” 

“It totally wasn’t my fault!” Merlin pouted, his eyes protesting his innocence. “Arthur was going to be killed. IF you want to blame anyone, I think we should blame the sorceress.”

Elyan and Lancelot laughed, their sound a counterpoint to Gwen’s giggles. At that, Gaius’ glare softened, although it didn’t fully disappear. Sending him his most winning smile Merlin sidled out of his grip and towards the siblings, pulling each of them for a hug in turn.

He could finally breathe, the tension of the last few hours draining away. 

* * *

“Does he hate me?” 

Merlin’s voice was tiny, a bare whisper. It was a little while since he and Lancelot had come in. Gwen sucked in sharp breath from where she sat arranging the various blankets they had brought to the cave. 

“Of course not, Merlin.” Her voice was soft as she drew Merlin into her embrace, the two of them like pups seeking warmth and sharing comfort. 

“Of course not,” she repeated as she tucked her chin under Merlin’s. Merlin wrapped his arms around her, eyes prickling with tears. He felt so raw today, so emotional. Tears seemed to leak out without his consent, drawing from his grief, his fear and his anger. “Arthur’s the one who told us to get you out.”

Merlin’s eyes widened in shock, his mouth dropping open at this revelation. He had thought… he had thought that Arthur would have wanted nothing more than to see Merlin burn. And to hear that Arthur, King Arthur, was the one to orchestrate his escape? That surprised Merlin—although a small part of him, the part that had died once he’d heard Arthur’s sentence, glowed in satisfaction.

“Even if he hadn’t, we would have.” At Elyan’s voice, Merlin drew away from his sister and turned to him. 

“We would have broken you out anyways. You know that, right?” Elyan looked intently at Merlin, his face serious. 

_I do know that_ he thought as he looked at the faces that surrounded him. He couldn’t believe that he had once believed that his friends, his family, would ever turn their backs on him. 

But he also knew, just as surely, that the fear of magic ran deep in Uther’s kingdom. He’d seen neighbors turn on neighbours, wives and husbands torn apart. The fear of magic penetrated the core of all of Camelot’s citizens, and he had thought it would hold even more true for those tasked to defend it.

The silence grew, each lost to their own thoughts but taking comfort from the other’s presence after the terror of the last few hours playing in their minds. 

“We should probably get back.” Lancelot broke in, his voice hesitant. “The town’s on high alert and Arthur probably gathering the Knights.”

They had filled Merlin in on the rest of the plan, and although he knew it was for the best, he couldn’t help but worry. His concern for his mother, for the consequences of the journey to Ealdor, preyed heavily on his mind. But after much convincing, he ceded to their logic, although he still disliked it. 

“Yes you’re right, Lancelot,” Gaius groaned as he made his way to his feet. The others quickly gathered their cloaks and assorted belongings, with Gwen hovering over Merlin. 

“Are you sure you’ll be alright, Merlin?” She looked so concerned, her face pinched in worry. 

Merlin laughed, in part to reassure her and in part to reassure himself. “Of course! You’re the ones who are going to have to sneak back into Camelot.” 

“Ok… If you’re sure.” Gwen’s face was still twisted up in worry, but with a kiss to Merlin’s cheek, she left as well.

Merlin was, once again, alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew! This chapter was a challenge from start to finish. Sorry if there are any glaring errors and mistakes, these past couple of weeks have been a little crazy. This is my first time writing a chapter as long as this, and writing any sort of action scene so hopefully it’s good. Please drop a comment, I’d really appreciate any feedback :) 
> 
> In other news, I really wanted to focus on the Knights and their relationship with Merlin, as well as Gwen’s and Gaius’, because the last chapter was an angsty mess and I felt Merlin needed to feel a bit more loved this chapter. Anyways, please let me know if there’s anything you’d like to see!


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